


The Valkyries

by TextualDeviance



Series: The Raven and the Dove [21]
Category: Vikings - Fandom
Genre: F/F, F/M, Homophobia, M/M, Menacing, Strong Violence, references to rape, threats of rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-27
Updated: 2014-06-27
Packaged: 2018-02-06 10:22:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1854571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TextualDeviance/pseuds/TextualDeviance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alone in the camp after Ragnar and company have sailed away, Athelstan finds himself threatened by some of Horik's men. Help comes from an unexpected source.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Valkyries

**Author's Note:**

> Set during 2x04. Follows [A Man of Gentle Heart](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1846108)

For several seconds, Athelstan wondered if he was still hallucinating. Then he wished he had been.

The young Saxon soldier looked nearly dead, so thoroughly had he been beaten by some of Horik's men. When they shoved him through the flap of the tent, he collapsed weakly at Athelstan's feet, too broken even to meet his eye.

"We brought you a gift!" One of the soldier's tormentors—Ulf? Olaf? Something like that—sneered at Athelstan.

"I don't understand." His instinct was to help the soldier, but something told him that wouldn't be wise.

The other Northman, whom Athelstan remembered as Rego, laughed harshly. "You didn't seem interested in taking any of the women we captured, so we figured we'd bring you something else—something you might want more."

He felt the blood drain out of his face, and what little he'd managed to eat today threatened to work its way back up his throat. Fear rising, he scrambled to his feet, and set a hand on his axe.

"Please," the soldier managed to croak, in Athelstan's language.

Athelstan tried to ignore him. "What would I want with him?"

Rego kicked the soldier. "This is what you like, isn't it? It's clear you don't like women."

Athelstan tried to put up a strong presence. "I do like women. I just don't like raping them. I prefer them moaning my name, not screaming." He hoped he sounded convincing.

"Right," Olaf said sarcastically. "Don't make us laugh. It's pretty obvious what Ragnar keeps you around for. Why would he bring on a raid a useless Christian—one who doesn't even like to kill? Go on, priest. Give this soldier what you give your master."

Athelstan's cheeks flushed with sudden anger. "Ragnar is not my master. I am a free man, and you would be wise to remember that before insulting me in such a way." He held up his arm, the ring there flashing. For a moment, the men looked slightly worried, and backed off a little. This gave him courage to continue. "As for why Ragnar brought me, it is because of my skill with languages, since none of you imbeciles would know the first thing about how to talk to these people. The king himself wished me to stay behind for that reason." By way of demonstration, he crouched down and finally caught the soldier's eye. "Fear not," he said in his native tongue. "I will not harm you any further."

A momentary look of peace crossed the soldier's broken face. "Thank you," he whispered.

Athelstan rose again. "This soldier is no threat to you. It is no proof of your manhood to harm someone who does not have the strength to fight back. Only men who are weak would try to prove themselves thus." He narrowed his eyes, and began fondling his axe in earnest. "Should you wish to prove your manhood for real, you might consider fighting someone who is armed and hale. But I warn you: should you harm or kill me, you will have your king to answer to."

"Rego, we should—" Olaf stepped toward the exit.

"No! I will not bear such insolence from this mongrel." Rego drew his sword, and for a moment, Athelstan was convinced he had dug himself too deep a hole. His heart thumping, he slipped his axe free of its ring and dropped into a defensive stance.

"What's this?" The tent flap parted again, and one of the shieldmaidens in Horik's entourage—a tall, dark-haired woman who looked equal the size of nearly any man in the camp—strode in. "Rego? Olaf? What fuckery are you doing, now? What have you done to my captive?"

" _Your_ captive?" Olaf's cheeks went pale.

" _My_ captive," she reiterated. "I was the one who found him lurking on the edge of our camp. I took him for my own pleasure, and now I see you have not only stolen him, but ruined him for that purpose. Well done, you sheep's arse." She pulled an enormous, two-handed axe from her belt, and raised it. For a moment, it looked as if she was going to take off both Rego's and Olaf's heads with a single stroke, but then the axe whistled past them, and its edge buried deeply into the battered soldier's chest. With a final look of both pain and relief, the soldier expired.

"There." The shieldmaiden wiped her bloody blade across Rego's tunic, and slid it back into her belt. "Now get this corpse out of here before it draws vermin to our supplies."

Scrambling to comply, Rego and Olaf dragged the limp body from the tent, leaving a dark trail of blood behind.

Athelstan stared at her with a mixture of fear, awe, and, to his slight horror, a little arousal. For a moment, he saw in her face some of the things he had always loved about Lagertha. His baser self wondered briefly whether he should offer himself up as a replacement for her lost captive.

"Sorry about those two," she said, her nose wrinkling. "Between them they haven't got half a brain."

Athelstan chuckled nervously. "So it would seem."

"If they give you any more trouble, come find me," she said, clapping him on the shoulder. "We aberrations of nature ought to stick together."

He frowned at her. "Aberrations?"

She laughed. "Don't tell me I've got you wrong! I'm never wrong. I have a third eye for these things."

Another rustle at the tent flap caught their attention. Coming in behind her was another shieldmaiden, this one shorter, blonde, and robust, with a pair of long daggers at her generous hips. "Elsie! I wondered where you'd got to. I just saw Rego and Olaf carrying that soldier we found. What happened?"

Elsie rolled her eyes. "Three guesses, Birgit, and the first two don't count."

"Idiots," Birgit huffed. "He was a nice sort, that Saxon, even if I couldn't understand a word he said. I was looking forward to having some fun with him after dark."

Athelstan shifted nervously. "Fun," he repeated, almost under his breath.

Elsie laughed. "Yes, fun. And not just for us."

"What?"

Birgit smirked. "We caught him because he was spying on us as we were bathing, the dirty boy. He didn't seem to mind being taken captive."

"Oh! I see. I think." Athelstan's vision was beginning to swim, and he started wondering again if his mind had taken off without him.

"Terrible shame he's dead, now," Birgit continued. "He was such a lovely young thing."

"He was, yes. Pity those two dung heaps messed him up so." Elsie sighed.

A sly smile crawled over Birgit's face, and she took a couple of steps toward Athelstan. "Of course, now that means we're alone for the night. Not that we mind," she cast a significant look at Elsie, "but we'd been looking forward to a treat."

Elsie came up beside her, and stroked a hand down Athelstan's arm. "Normally, we prefer each other's company, but we make the occasional exception."

Suddenly, all became clear in Athelstan's mind, and the shock of it nearly bowled him over. He took a step back, trying to gather his thoughts.

"Whoa!" Elsie laughed. "I knew I was right!"

Birgit elbowed her and chuckled. "You were! What was it, the day we left the dock in Kattegat when you said . . .?"

Elsie nodded. "It was just the way he looked at the earl. Too obvious by far."

Athelstan, a little perturbed at being spoken about as if he wasn't there, cleared his throat. "Wait."

Elsie turned back to him, an eyebrow raised. "I _am_ right, yes?"  

He stopped and started several equivocations before giving up. "Yes. To a degree." A sudden panic took him. "But please say nothing to anyone!"

Birgit squeezed his arm. "Of course not, you sweet idiot. Why would we risk giving ourselves away?"

Athelstan relaxed again. "Ah! Right."

Elsie cocked her head. "Just a moment. You said, 'to a degree.' What does that mean?"

He looked back and forth between the pair. A raw, wild part of himself wanted to tell them that he, too could make an exception, especially for the two of them. He considered exactly how tickled Torstein would be when they saw each other again and he related the tawdry tale. He even wondered if being with them might serve to keep the rumors about him at bay, and thus help keep him safe. But the momentary flash of lust was shortly replaced by every other feeling he'd had the past couple of days, and none of them were the least bit friendly to such an idea. More than anything, he couldn't stop thinking about the hurt, angry look on Ragnar's face as his boat pulled away from the shore. While his body might well enjoy having a night of carnal companionship with the two bold women, his heart would only break further at being in the arms of someone aside from the man he loved. "Nothing," he finally said.  

Elsie didn't look convinced, but she stepped back from him anyway. "Fair enough," she said.

Birgit started to say something, but stopped when Elsie nudged her with a shoulder.

"The sky begins to grow dark, my love," Elsie said gently, reaching for her lover's hand. "We should bid our friend here good night."

Birgit sighed sadly, looking Athelstan up and down as if she were starving and sizing up a feast-laden table. "We should, I suppose." Leaning forward, she dropped a kiss on his cheek anyway. "Be well."

"I will try." He managed a weak smile.

Elsie patted his shoulder again. "I meant what I said about finding me—either of us, actually. Some of these men are horrid creatures and they need to be kept in line. Without your friends and your earl here, you might be in some danger. We can keep an eye out for you if you'd like."

Athelstan finally sprouted a genuine smile, and for the first time that day, felt almost safe. "I would like that. Thank you."

 

His dreams the past several days had been distinctly awful, but at least one this night was pleasant. Atop a corpse-strewn hill, he cowered, surrounded on all sides by a bevy of muscled, blood-spattered women who bellowed mightily as they slayed every attacker that meant to kill him. At the forefront stood the proudest of all: blonde braids dancing and familiar voice singing out battle cries as her sword bit again and again into enemy flesh. That she wore no armor—indeed, she wore nothing  whatsoever—didn't seem to hinder her at all.  


End file.
